Gondor's Sons
by Raksha The Demon
Summary: As Gondor enjoys the blessings of the early Fourth Age, one child is born and another is envisioned: two ficlets of 700 and 400 words respectively as counted by MS Works.
1. Rising Star

The sun descends; and the star of Eärendil climbs the darkening sky. My lady lies in childbed beyond a door that I am not allowed to enter. I can do naught to aid her. And still we wait.

Éomer paces back and forth, stopping only to crack his knuckles. If he mentions mares and foals one more time, I truly think that I will strike him. Though such a blow would not bring this child any faster; it would at least improve my mood.

Aragorn arrives, bringing wine and good cheer. I can barely discern his words. All I hear are Éowyn's cries and moans, mercifully somewhat muffled by the door. I sit still and think back on all that I know of childbirth. It is not much. I yearn more than ever before for the presence of my mother. I can take some solace that old Ioreth, who has helped many mothers safely deliver their babes, is behind that door with my wife. Arwen is there too; it is good that Éowyn has a friend with her now.

Hark! The sounds are different now. What has happened? I catch Éomer's eye; and see the same fear there that chills my heart. I rise; and our hands clasp as if we were frightened children rather than King of Rohan and Steward of Gondor.

The door opens. Arwen emerges. She smiles! I try to calm my racing heart; for surely she would not smile if she bore ill tidings.

The Queen says that Éowyn is well and I have a son. The world is changed forever.

My knees grow weak. I steady myself. Aragorn gives me something to drink and I drain the goblet with one gulp. We all embrace. I think Éomer is weeping. Then I stagger toward the door, with these two unlikely brothers at my back.

Arwen allows me entry, but bars the door to the two kings. I go to my lady. Valar, she looks weary! Yet there is great joy upon her pale face. I fear I shall weep with relief that I have not lost her.

I see a blanketed bundle in Éowyn's arms. At her urging, I part the coverlets and look upon my son for the first time. Foolishly, all I can do is gape. He is so new! His head is still damp from birth, and covered with golden hair. His bright eyes are veiled by long eyelashes. Soft little sounds issue from his mouth. Is he weary too? Surely he has taken the longest journey of us all this day!

Éowyn laughs and bids me take him. Ioreth prattles on about what a big, strong babe he is as I lift the infant carefully into my arms. Big? He is so small that his head fits in my hand; and he is utterly helpless. I fear that if I do not hold him close, I shall drop him; but if I hold him too tightly, he shall break.

His brow creases in a frown. For the first time, I see a likeness to one who is lost. I glimpse Boromir in the child's nose, the curve of his lips. And I am nigh overwhelmed by a surge of fierce joy welling up within me. "Welcome," I whisper. "Thou art most welcome, my son." Ah, surely I am the most fortunate of all men!

He cries for a moment, and I start in sudden concern. I touch his face; then his tiny pink hand. He seizes my forefinger with surprising strength. My eyes blur. He cannot understand, as I now do, that his little fist has fastened also on my heart.

Éowyn asks me to name our son. I had thought to call him after Mardil or Cirion, but now I am of different mind. I look out the window, where Eärendil's star rises; and at our mortal Evenstar, the star-bearer's own kin. They both watched over the child's birth.

"My brother was Boromir, Faithful Jewel," I proclaim. "My son shall be Elboron, Faithful Star."

It is done. A tear escapes my eye as I watch the bright star and pray that somewhere beyond it, my brother also looks down upon us.


	2. Sons of Gondor

The crowd gathered in the Citadel commenced a loud cheer as we appeared. Faramir announced the birth, holding the blanketed infant proudly. Our people shouted at the sight of the Steward and his heir.

I was King, but Faramir was known and beloved throughout Gondor. It was somehow fitting that his son be born first, here in the City where his ancestors had ruled. My own heart swelled with the hope that I would one day know the same joy of fatherhood that now lit my Steward's tired face. I already felt a secret healer's pride in the child; since my hands had restored his parents and enabled them to come together in fruitful joy. Éowyn had stayed awake long enough to nurse her child and concur in his naming, then had dropped into a much needed slumber.

Faramir turned, and, unexpectedly, proffered his son to me. I took him gladly. Newly born and named, Elboron was a healthy, handsome child, with a fine down of golden hair atop his head. The crowd roared approval, but I scarcely heard the joyous cries. The babe yawned then, shifting slightly toward me and then nestling in my arms. Faramir grinned. I had never seen him look so much at ease with the world.

"He is already loved, this newest son of Gondor" I observed, happy to see the glow of paternal pride so clear in Faramir's eyes as once I had seen it brighten his own father's sterner visage. 

Faramir smiled broadly, and turned the full weight of his gaze on me. "Yes, he is Gondor's son, and he will serve her well. But your son, Sire…" His grey eyes glinted as if he could pierce the very veils of time. "When your heir is born, he will be Gondor's son, and more. He will be a gift of the Eldar to Men; and he will inherit all that we fought for, all the hope you brought us, and all that you will build. His name shall be cried not only in Gondor but throughout all the lands of Middle-earth. "

Faramir's eyes shone bright with confidence and love. Standing there with the precious weight of his son in my arms, I looked into a future where our children would reap the dearly sown fruit of peace. Before us, its branches rustling in a soft wind of Spring, the White Tree bloomed.


End file.
